


At Least That's What He Tells Himself

by Dixie



Category: Fringe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dixie/pseuds/Dixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 5.02, 2036 canon</p><p>Peter, Olivia, and Etta... the aftermath of their trip to Harvard</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Least That's What He Tells Himself

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to OConnellAboo for edits, advice, inspiration, and patience!

He made his rounds every night, turning off lights and checking the windows and doors. Walter was on the couch, snoring noisily, and Etta was in her room.  Peter knew she wasn’t asleep; even in the shadows, he could see her cheeks shining.  As he stood there, she drew a deep, shuddering breath, then whispered “Goodnight, Dad.”

He wanted to wrap his arms around her, brush the tears from her face, and promise her that everything would be ok in the morning, but he knew what worked for a three year old who saw a monster in her closet wouldn’t be effective for the 24 year old woman in front of him whose monsters were real.  Instead, he whispered back “Goodnight, sweetheart,” and gently shut her door. 

He headed back to the room he now shares with Astrid and Olivia.

_Because, really, after 20 years of silence in amber, I have to sleep through Walter’s snores? That’s why I moved from a too-short couch in the main room to a mattress on the floor.  On the far side of the room from Astrid and Olivia.  Because neither of them snore._

At least that’s what he tells himself. 

_And if my mattress seems a little closer to hers every night, well, that’s just a coincidence._

At least that’s what he tells himself. 

ooo

He passed Astrid in the kitchen, pouring a last cup of tea.  He nodded towards their room and asked “Olivia?”

Astrid shook her head and looked in the direction of the living room.  He nodded, and then gestured toward the tea pot.  “Any left?”

She pushed a couple of mugs his way in answer, and patted his shoulder as she passed him on the way to their room.

Peter walked into the darkened living room and glanced around.  He spotted Olivia tucked away in the tiny alcove; it was a little nook with casement windows and a cushioned bench seat.  The windows were open and Olivia was gazing into the darkness.  Peter tapped gently on the doorframe to announce himself, then walked over to Olivia and handed her a mug.  “Strongest thing in the house,” he said as he stood behind her at the window.

She smiled up at him gratefully and sipped her tea.  Looking back at the deserted streets, she said “Peter, why are we here?”

He was silent for so long, Olivia thought he might not have heard her. 

“Here, in 2036?  Or here, instead of sleeping?  Help me out, it’s been a long day.”

Olivia could hear the sardonic bite in his voice, and flashed him a brief smile.  “Here, with Etta.”

“What?  What do you mean, here with Etta?  Where else would we be?”  He sat down opposite her and set his mug on the windowsill.

“I saw the photos in the bathroom.  She has a family.  She has a life, Peter, and we’re not in it.  Don’t you think we’re being a little presumptuous to – “

“Olivia, wait.”  He touched her leg, then pulled his hand back as he realized what he’d done.  “Those photos… those are her foster families.”

“I know, Peter, but we’ve just waltzed in here and assumed she’d want us here, that we’d have a place in her life.  She must’ve loved those people, or she wouldn’t have the photographs.”

Peter sighed.  “Olivia, she’s been looking for us as long as she’s known about us.”

“She reminded me today – she said I don’t know her world.”  Olivia set her mug on the sill next to Peter’s, and wrung her hands in a familiar gesture of worry and frustration.  “And I don’t.  And I don’t know her life.  I don’t know her at all, Peter.”

Olivia turned away so that Peter wouldn’t see the tears building in her eyes, but that was a familiar gesture to him as well.  “And she doesn’t know us, Liv.  But she wants to.  And she wants us in her life.”

She laughed bitterly.  “Are you sure about that?  I don’t think we’ve made her life any better by being here.  She could’ve been killed today.”

Peter reached out again, but stopped himself before he touched her, and picked up his mug instead.  “I think she wants us.  I know she needs us.”  He sipped his tea. 

Olivia looked at him doubtfully.

“Aside from saving the world,” Peter went on, with a slight smirk, “she’s an impulsive, headstrong 24 year old.  I don’t know about you at that age, but I could’ve used a calmer head from time to time.”  He took another sip of tea.  “And I think she takes after me in that respect.”

Olivia rolled her eyes a bit.

“Maybe you knew what you were doing at 24, but I didn’t.”  He pointed at himself, then at her.  “Brontosaurus, FBI agent – remember?”

She smiled then, shrugging her shoulders in agreement.  “But, Peter, she’s had to grow up so quickly in this world.  And all of it’s been without us.  The world has left its mark on her, and it’s not a good one.”

“It’s not the life we wanted for her, true.”  Peter leaned back and stretched his arm across the window ledge.  “But what would you change about her, Liv?  She knows how to take care of herself, most of the time.”

Olivia ran her hands through her hair.  “She would’ve killed that Loyalist today, Peter.  Or let him be killed.  Where did that come from?”

Peter studied his mug as the silence stretched between them.  He spoke without looking up.  “Mercy is a luxury when you’re fighting for your life, Olivia.”  He raised his head and stared at her.  “How many men have you taken out since you’ve been out of amber?”

She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it abruptly and put her hand over her eyes.

“Liv,” he sighed.  “It IS a different world.  You’re still thinking that we’re still the ones in charge.” 

She was shaking her head slowly, her hand still covering her eyes.

Peter put his hand on the side of Olivia’s face, cupping her cheek, finally touching her as he’d wanted to all day.  “Etta isn’t doing anything that we wouldn’t do, haven’t done, when the situation calls for it.”

“But, Peter, that guard…”

“Liv, these people… the Resistance, Simon, Etta… they’ve been fighting to keep their world.  Literally fighting for their humanity.”

“Etta told me today that they were losing the fight,” Olivia said in a whisper.

“It’s hard to see a better world with the kind of odds they’ve had.  But, Liv…” Peter took a deep breath.  “Liv, maybe that’s why we’re here.  To even the playing field.  To show them another way.”

Olivia leaned into the windowsill, propping her head on her hand.  “But how do we teach people that have given up?  How do you teach compassion to people who think compassion kills?”

“Just like you did today, Liv.  One person at a time.”  He gently tipped her head up to look at him.  “She didn’t kill him, did she?”

Olivia shook her head slowly.  “He told her he was going to join the Resistance when she let him go.”

“You didn’t teach her that.  You didn’t teach HIM that…but you gave them hope that there’s another way to live.”

They sat in companionable silence, a slight breeze blowing through the open windows, and smiled softly at each other.  Peter heard her first, quiet footsteps from the kitchen.  Etta stood in the doorway, holding a mug of tea.  “Couldn’t sleep, kiddo?” he asked gently.

“Yeah,” she replied softly.  “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Peter replied, standing.  “Here, sit down.”

Etta sat next to Olivia in the spot Peter had vacated, looking at the mug she held in her lap. Olivia was the first to notice her trembling hands.  Wordlessly, she clasped Etta’s hands in her own.  Etta looked up at her and bit her lip.

Olivia smiled nervously at Etta, then squeezed her hands.  Peter knelt beside them and took the cup from her hands. 

“Henrietta?” Peter murmured in a low voice, the same voice he’d used when a woeful three year old would climb into his lap for solace.

Something in his voice, or the feel of Olivia’s hands on hers, broke Etta’s last defense, and the tears streamed down her face.  Olivia’s arms surrounded her and she buried her head against Olivia’s shoulder. 

“Shh, baby girl, I’ve got you,” Olivia whispered, rocking her gently and falling back into habits that, to her, were only months old.  As Etta sobbed, Olivia looked at Peter with a questioning expression.

“Simon,” he mouthed silently, and Olivia nodded, continuing to gently rock the younger woman in her arms.  He’d mentioned Simon when he and Etta had returned to the lab earlier that day, but when they arrived back at the apartment, out of Etta’s earshot, he described the scene to Olivia.  His eyes were fierce when he told her; his look made Olivia’s blood run cold.

Peter stood up and gathered the mugs.  While he didn’t want to knock one over inadvertently, he really wanted to give Olivia a few minutes alone with their daughter.  After rinsing the mugs and leaving them in the sink, he returned and stood in the doorway of the living room.

Etta was speaking in low tones to Olivia while the older woman stroked the hair away from her face.  Olivia’s face was tear-streaked as well, but she had a calm expression on her face as she listened to Etta talking about Simon.

“I ca- can’t get his face out of my mind, every time I close my eyes…” Etta struggled for composure and buried her face in Olivia’s shoulder again.  Olivia shut her eyes and pulled her closer.

“I know, baby, I know.”  She stroked Etta’s hair.  “When we knew Peter had to go into the Machine…” At Etta’s puzzled look, she stopped and shook her head.  “It’s a story for another time.  But your dad had to do something to save us, to save all of us, to save the world.  We didn’t know what would happen, but nothing made us think he would survive it.”

Etta looked at her again, scrutinizing Olivia’s face.  Her voice was low and steady, but her eyes glistened as she continued.  “We both knew he was going to do it.  I don’t think I slept a single night without seeing him in that goddamn machine.”

Olivia looked up then, and gazed at Peter standing in the doorway.  “I was terrified every minute of every day.  And I think he was, too.” She smiled knowingly at him.  “At times, I hated him because he wouldn’t walk away from it.  I was selfish, I wanted to keep him to myself, and let the world go to hell without us.”

Peter studied her face.  They’d never talked much about the Machine; after everything that happened, it seemed a lifetime away – it _was_ a lifetime away, and once they’d found their way back to each other, they had happier things to talk about, houses and babies and vows… and the memories faded into the background of what their lives came to be.  Hearing her now, he was reminded that no one knew him as deeply, as intimately as Olivia, and that would never change, no matter how much separated them.

Olivia kept her eyes on him as she resumed her story.  “He was only in it for a minute, maybe two.”  Her arms tightened around Etta.  “But it felt like forever.  I was sure it was going to kill him… it was swallowing him whole, eating him alive…”   She stopped and swiped the back of her hand across her eyes.  “I stood there and watched it happen, and sometimes, I still see it.” 

“I wanted to kill them all,” Etta whispered.  “When I saw what they’d done to him.”  Her voice caught, and she turned her face back to Olivia’s body again.  When she spoke again, her voice was muffled.  “Dad.. he stopped me, but I can’t…” Her shoulders shook as a fresh wave of grief silenced her. 

For long minutes, the only sound was Etta’s quiet sobs.  Peter was silent, but his expression was grim.  He already felt guilty about Simon’s decision to push him out of the amber; he thought he’d have the opportunity to make it up to him, and to Etta.  Just something else those bald-headed bastards had taken away from them. 

He knelt beside the two women, their almost identical blond heads bowed in shared anguish, and wrapped his arms around them both.  He wanted to tell Etta that everything would be ok, that they would exact vengeance on every SOB that made Simon suffer, made her suffer… but those words sounded hollow, even in his own mind.  He wanted to tell Olivia he regretted every minute of sadness he’d ever caused her, and he’d never do anything again to give her a moment’s worry or pain, but she already knew the former, and she’d never believe the latter – she knew him, and their life together, too well. 

So he knelt there, long after his knees protested and his back ached, and held the two women in his life until Etta’s gulps turned into measured breaths, and Olivia’s fingers twisted in his hair. 

Olivia walked with Etta to her bedroom and embraced her before saying goodnight and turning to her own room while Peter made his rounds again, closing the windows and re-checking the doors.  After he was satisfied they were secured for the night, he stood at Etta’s doorway, thinking her asleep until she said drowsily, “Good night, Dad.”

“Goodnight, kiddo,” he murmured, wanting to say more. As he turned away, he heard her say softly, “Thank you for being here.”  He didn’t trust his voice to reply, so he just nodded as he shut her bedroom door and walked away.

He walked past a still-snoring Walter, and slipped into the room where Astrid and Olivia were sleeping. Quietly, he unlaced his boots and stretched out on his mattress.  Olivia never stirred, so he took advantage of the moment and gazed at the sleeping woman, wondering if they would survive long enough to find their way back to each other. 

They were still walking on eggshells around each other, making tentative attempts at reaching out.  He tried to avoid making her feel uncomfortable; he tried to curb his natural instinct to touch her, although he failed miserably most days; he slept facing the wall most nights, to prevent himself from doing what he was doing right now – brushing a strand of hair out of her face, softly stroking her cheek with his thumb, rolling towards her, his head pillowed on his hands so that her face would be the last thing he saw as he fell asleep. 

_I never thought I’d see you again.  Or Etta.  I’m not going to lose the two of you again._

At least that’s what he tells himself, as he drifts into what he hopes will be a dreamless sleep.

ooo

When he woke the next morning, he found she’d taken his hand during the night, and laced her fingers with his. When he opened his eyes, he saw her olive green ones staring back at him; and while he still saw sadness, and regret, he also saw hope.


End file.
